Heartsville 01 - Bookmarked (Piper Vaughn) (8 page)

Despite his pallor and the trembling Mark felt where Shepherd’s hands gripped his hips, Shep scrounged up a small smile. “Mr. Werner, you’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

Mark fought back a laugh. Instead, he arched his brows as he lowered Shepherd’s zipper. “That would imply you weren’t already seduced,” he said, and with a cheeky grin, he sank to his knees.

A quick tug had Shepherd’s jeans around his upper thighs. Mark hooked Shepherd’s briefs under his balls and took Shepherd’s soft cock into his mouth. Anxious or not, Shepherd quickly hardened under the gentle suction, swelling and thickening until Mark pulled back and palmed the base to hold the length still.

They didn’t have a lot of time, but the door was secure, and Mark refused to rush. He blew Shepherd with languid thoroughness, using his fist to stroke the shaft as he lavished attention on the spongy crown. He flicked his tongue and delved into the tiny slit, chasing drops of precum. Shepherd tasted salty and smelled like soap and sweat and sex. Mark moaned and buried his face in Shep’s sac, knocking his glasses awry. He licked at the silky, lightly furred skin and pressed Shep’s cock against his taut abdomen so he could drag his mouth from root to tip.

“Mark.” Shepherd groaned and clutched his shoulders. “S’good,” he said, lust slurring the words.

Mark peeked up at him, meeting Shep’s hungry, half-lidded gaze. Keeping their eyes locked, he sucked harder, a tight, relentless rhythm, savoring the glide of hot, pulsing flesh along his tongue.

Shepherd’s thighs shook, and he cupped Mark’s chin with strong fingers. He pressed in deep, the broad head of his cock flirting with Mark’s throat. Mark relaxed his jaw, dropped his hand, and let Shepherd have his way, giving his mouth over to be used however Shep saw fit.

“
Yeah.
”

The husky whisper went straight to Mark’s balls. He shuddered, his pulse ratcheting up when Shep bucked his hips and drove his dick home. It didn’t matter that Mark couldn’t take the whole length. Shep pushed in as far as he could, fucking Mark’s face with slow, purposeful thrusts, insistent yet not rough enough to hurt.

Spit wet his chin, and Mark’s cock was so hard he ached, but he didn’t even consider reaching down to touch himself. Later, Shep would make him come in some delicious way that curled his toes and made his eyes cross. This moment? This was all about Shepherd and getting him to let go, to release that buildup of anxiety and tension.

Shepherd slowed his movements. “Can… can I…?”

Mark hummed around his cock, and Shepherd made a wrecked noise, his balls drawing up tight.

“I want to come on your face,” Shep said, breathless and raspy. “Your glasses.”

Mark’s dick throbbed, and he pulled free to nod his approval. “Yes. Yeah. Do it.” He had a spare shirt in his desk drawer and the bathroom was right across from his office. No one would ever know.

Shepherd fisted his shaft and pumped hard. He only lasted three strokes before he shot. Warm, musky semen splashed across Mark’s cheeks and splattered on his lenses. He tilted his head back, shivering at the slippery heat as another jet of cum struck his chin and slid down his neck to his collar. His ass clenched, and in that second, he wanted nothing more than to be stretched wide around Shepherd’s cock. They hadn’t done that yet, but… soon. It had to happen soon.

“Fuck.” Shep’s voice was low and heartfelt. Through his smeared lenses, Mark could see his chest heaving. “That was…. Jesus. You’re amazing.”

Mark grinned, holding still as Shep carefully removed his glasses. Shep grabbed a handful of tissues from the desk, first cleaning the glasses, then wiping Mark’s face with a gentle touch.

When he was finished, Shepherd smiled and traced Mark’s lower lip, his eyes bright. “Thank you.”

Mark nipped at his thumb. “My pleasure. Feeling better?”

Shepherd nodded, and Mark held out a hand for Shep to help him up. Mark kissed him—a quick tangle of tongues, and a promise for later. Then he pulled away to unbutton his stained shirt. “Now I should probably wash up and get changed before my father gets here.”

Shepherd gave a choked-sounding chuckle. “That’s probably a good idea.”

****

“Hi. For those who may not know me, I’m Shepherd Knight, author of
The Drake Chronicles
.”

Mark smiled as pride welled inside him. Shepherd looked scared to death, and his voice held a definite tremor, but he stood tall, and his gaze was focused on the crowd instead of darting away. Mark knew it took serious guts for Shepherd to stand up there and face his fear head on. Not everyone could do it, and Mark admired him all the more for the bravery. And of course he couldn’t deny a pleased little thrill at the thought that Shepherd had taken this plunge partially to help him, to save Bookmarked.

A hum of excitement filled the shop. These people, like Mark and Bruno, were here because they admired Shepherd. They cluttered the lounge area, sharing chairs and space on the floor as they stared at Shep, waiting for him to continue. At his back, Brittany stood like a pink-armored guardian, ready and willing to step in and protect her charge at a moment’s notice. But it wasn’t necessary. Shepherd lifted his chin, determination blazing in his eyes, and after a few long seconds, he cleared his throat and finally continued.

“When I started writing, I got a lot of different advice. I was told to write a lot and read a lot. I heard the road to hell is paved in adverbs. Then I heard there’s a place for every kind of word, as long as you practice moderation. Some people told me I should study style guides and learn every rule. Others told me to throw the rules away.

“One thing I can say for certain, with over twenty years of writing and thirteen years of publishing experience under my belt: never let anyone tell you you’re not good enough. If you have a story inside you, it deserves to be told. It doesn’t have to be the next Harry Potter to be worthwhile. Every story will find its fans, whether it be millions of them or just a handful. What matters is putting words on the page, because if you’re anything like me, it’ll kill you to keep your stories inside. Every time I write, it’s a catharsis. Even if I never got paid for it, I’d feel compelled to do it. And
that’s
what makes a true writer. It’s not how many readers you have or how many publishing contracts. Do you love to write? Then you’re an author. No one can take that from you.”

The audience cheered, and Shepherd grinned, clearly gaining confidence from their support. “Now onto the good stuff. I know some of you are thinking, ‘How in the hell am I going to pull off writing fifty-thousand words in a month?’ Right now that number may seem insurmountable, but it’s entirely possible, and before we get started, I’m going to tell you some of my tips for cranking out high word counts in short periods of time.” Shepherd held up a finger. “This is my number one rule: do not go back. You’re going to want to read over what you’ve written. You’re going to want to tweak and polish and obsess.
Don’t.
In the words of Jack Drake, ‘Don’t step in your own shit.’ Keep moving forward, and save the editing for December. Trust me, guys. You can always revise a first draft once it’s finished, but you know what you can’t do? Edit a blank page.”

****

Somewhere around 2:30, Mark got his second wind. He reached that pivotal point when exhaustion morphed into a feeling like he’d been mainlining caffeine. After the writers trickled out at three, he told Angie to check for garbage and toss what remained of the food. With Shepherd’s help, Mark put all the tables and chairs back to rights. By then, it was half past the hour, and Angie appeared to be stumbling around in a near-catatonic state. Mark sent her home, scanned the store one last time, set the alarm, and locked the doors with Shepherd at his side.

Without any real discussion, they started walking toward his apartment instead of in the opposite direction where Shepherd lived.

“So cold,” Mark muttered, huddling close to Shep. His windbreaker didn’t offer much protection against the frosty chill. He’d have to break out his peacoat and gloves soon.

Shepherd looped an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll warm you up when we get home.”

Home.
Mark knew Shepherd hadn’t meant it literally. They were both tired; the word had probably slipped out without any thought. But maybe… maybe someday down the line, they’d have a place to call home together. “That sounds nice,” he told Shepherd.

It ended up being spectacular.

Mark fell asleep in a boneless, satiated heap, his body still humming from his release. And best of all, he was warm, so incredibly warm, sheltered and tucked against Shepherd’s chest.

Eight

Buzzing from Mark’s cell woke him not long after he’d fallen asleep. With a grumble, he silenced the phone and snuggled against Shepherd’s back.

Seconds later, it started vibrating again.

“Ugh.” Mark rolled over to pick up the phone and peered blearily at the screen. It was after five, and he didn’t recognize the number. Instantly, his mind flashed to his father. Maybe something had happened to Bruno. People didn’t call this late—or early, depending on how he looked at it—without a damn good reason.

Mark pressed Talk and lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Hello. May I speak to Markell Werner?”

Mark rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. “Yes. This is.”

“Mr. Werner, this is Tia with Axis Security. We’ve had a report of the alarm being set off at your place of business, Bookmarked.”

Mark bolted upright. “
What?
What happened?”

“We’re unclear at this time. The fire alarms weren’t set off, so possibly a break-in. It could also be a false alarm. Unfortunately, those do occur from time to time, but we were calling to inform you the police are en route”

“Okay.” Mark threw the blankets off his lap. “I’m getting ready to leave. I’ll be there in five minutes. Can you turn the alarm off? There are apartments above the shop next door. I don’t want anyone being disturbed.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll disable it now. Should you need anything else from us, please feel free to call at any time.”

“Thank you.” Mark disconnected the call and scrambled to find the pair of jeans he’d thrown on the floor earlier.

There was a
click
as the lamp on his nightstand switched on. Pale light flooded the room. Mark turned to see a disheveled Shep sitting up in bed.

Shepherd blinked groggily. “What is it?”

“The alarm went off at Bookmarked. I have to go meet the cops.”

Shepherd dragged a hand over his face and shook his head in an apparent attempt to wake himself up. “Oh man. Okay. I’ll go with you.”

Mark nodded and went back to searching for his clothes.

In a few minutes, he and Shepherd were dressed and out the door, teeth unbrushed, hair uncombed. Mark didn’t give a damn what he looked like. He needed to make sure his shop was okay.

“You all right?” Shep asked, breathing hard as he rushed to keep up with Mark. It was still dark outside and even colder than before. Mark barely felt the chill in his distraction.

“Just hope it’s a false alarm. Maybe something fell over, or maybe something accidentally hit the door.” Mark pumped his legs faster, almost running.

“Yeah,” Shep panted. “It’s probably nothing.”

But when they arrived, it wasn’t nothing. Not even close.

One of the front windows was broken, a jagged hole in the center with uneven cracks extending like tributaries in every direction. Eggshells littered the sidewalk, and dozens of congealing yolks ran down the glass. Some had even struck the book display inside, the one that advertised Shepherd’s new release, and Mark knew there’d be no saving those hardcovers.

But the worst part, the absolute
worst
, was the words spray-painted in black on the door.

Recycle this faggot

Mark’s stomach seized at the sight, and for a second, he thought he might actually throw up. He stared at the slur, his eyes watering as he remembered the face of the kid who’d called him “Fagtain Planet” a few weeks ago. It had to be him. It had to be. But
why
?

Some of the trees nearby were covered in toilet paper, and he could see the shop next door had been hit with a few eggs too. It happened almost every Halloween. Harmless enough, if a pain to clean up. But Mark’s was the only store that had been outright vandalized, and for what? Because he’d dared ask some kid to throw his bottle in the recycling bin? How did this punishment fit whatever crime the kid thought Mark had committed against him?

“Oh, Mark… I’m so sorry.” Shepherd touched his shoulder, then drew him into a quick embrace. “I’m going to call the cops and make sure they’re on their way.”

Dazed, Mark just nodded as Shepherd released him. After a moment, he heard Shepherd speaking quietly, but he couldn’t process the words or look away from the mess.